


Unrequited

by thestarsjustblinkforus



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (some of which are totally requited), F/M, Gen, M/M, Mixtape Series, Pining, so much pining, unrequited crushes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsjustblinkforus/pseuds/thestarsjustblinkforus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crushes suck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro - The XX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [Grantaire](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhnZkNj7kAo)   
> 

_lips to a pulse point fluttering madly an echo an echo an echo of his own just for a moment there and then gone_

_not a kiss no no not a kiss no_

_“Steady, steady…” (no never not ever)_

_hand on a bicep hand on an elbow_

_“I’ve got you…” (you do you really do)_

_“Hold on to me…”_

_crumpled red fabric like blood in his hands_

_mybloodyourbloodourblood_

_and what… and oh_

_a tricolour cockade_

_a fingertip tracing the shape his fingertip tracing the shape but_

_not touching_

_not for him to touch_

_no_

_“I should take you-” a whisper in his mouth_

_“Yes, God, **please** …” a breath against his lips_

_and_

_and and and_

he comes back to himself slow

 _excruciatingly_  slow

slow like this, like

this… is… his… skin…

his skin.

yes.

against sheets that haven’t been washed in fuck knows how long, grimy and sweat-damp against his bare skin.

Of which there seems to be quite a lot.

...

 _This_  is his tongue

heavy in his mouth

and fuzzed over with the remnants of a fuckton of alcohol, running once over his lower lip, his bitten lower lip that stings just a little… just a little bit of ow and he bites again because  _oh_ …

These are his eyes blinking blearily, squinting painfully against the sun that is hitting him  _full on_  because, apparently, he knocked the blinds down. Again.  _And_  tore the sheet he had nailed over them as an extra precaution  _against_  that. Again.

And this…

_“Admit it.”_

Oh, fuck,  _this_.

_“Admit what?”_

Thisishisbrainjackhammeringagainsthisskull.

He reaches with one hand clamped over his eyes because seriously _fuck_ it'sfuckingbright, the other spidering towards a bottle,  _any_  bottle to take the edge off, and he finds one but it’s  _empty_  and “Fuuuucking shit…”

_“Any way you want…”_

His hand falls away from the glass in defeat, lands on a condom wrapper that burns a little under his palm, heated by the merciless fucking sun, and he traces the exposed half-circle of latex, his fingernail catching on the torn packaging.

_“Any way you want me… I want… I want…”_

The hand over his eyes slides down his face, dragging skin and resting at his mouth, slacking his jaw.

_"I should take you-"_

_"Yes, God, **please** …" take me_

_take me take me take me_

...

He’s alone.

He knows it without looking, can feel the absence behind him yawning like a black hole and he rolls over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling he tattooed with Van Gogh stars on one of the many nights he’d decided sleep was boring.

He remembers this… lying like this last night… He had stared up at his stars with a hand on his chest… a hand that had gently pushed him down onto this mattress, fingers trailing lightly down his stomach…

He had wriggled out of his underwear then, he had reached out, he had tugged on a shirt that was purple in the blue dark and there were flashes of skin that he had ached to put his mouth against, skin so white, white like the moon hovering in his window suddenly there and then gone, a pale throat, that pulse point…

_“…how are you even real…”_

There were buttons. Problematic buttons. His fingers clumsy and too slow as they were caught, pressed down onto the mattress too and then hands on his wrists, fingernails scratching lightly down his forearms, making him shiver, making him shake in the best fucking way…

His eyes were closed because he couldn’t keep them open because he was drifting because his head was full of ocean, that familiar outward swell taking him away from himself again. He drank too much, he dove right in past the point of having any kind of control and he doesn’t remember a face, he remembers a hand holding him (gently) down. And he remembers liking it. He remembers wanting more. More pressure. More weight. To be pinned down, held down. Anchored, tethered, held  _still_  just for a moment…

And then  _cresting_...

Over and over again his body the undulating wave, the ocean out of his head and under his skin rushing hot and pulling back to rush again…

He sits up, his head still poundingPOUNDINGpounding _God_  and he crawls to the window, reaches the tattered edge of his makeshift curtain that hangs there like a broken flag and claws his way to a standing position to reattach it. He presses his forehead against the warm glass and breathes and breathes and  _who did he bring back here_  because that’s not really something he does even when he’s as fucked up as he was last night.

Here is himself laid bare and that is not something that should be inflicted on (hopefully) nice (hopefully) attractive strangers who agree to fuck him. Or be fucked by him.

Or neither.

Because they didn’t.

He’s fairly certain.

He doesn’t feel… sated. Doesn’t feel spent, used,  _had_.

Just… extremely… fucking… hungover. Again.

His knees start to shake and he rolls himself away from the window to slide down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor (poundingPOUNDINGpoundingSKULLJesus) and right in front him, right next to the bed, right next to the bottle that betrayed him by being  _empty_  is a glass of water.

A glass of  _water_.

He smiles a half smile, crooked and cracked like his memory and the sunlight isn’t so bad now filtered through the cornflower blue of the sheet and it almost feels like moonlight again which is his favorite and he looks at the unused condom and thinks of the guy who was apparently too much of a gentleman to take advantage which makes him wish he  _had_  and there are two small Advil tablets next to the glass and God he hopes it wasn’t Joly.


	2. Heartbeats - Jose Gonzalez

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [ _Eponine_ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9KDY8ubHh0)   
> 

_She knew something was wrong._

_She knew it while the rest of them laughed and drank and paid him no attention as he sat alone at the end of the bar staring into his glass with a kind of dazed anguish that she knows, that she **recognizes** , because she’s very familiar with  **how did everything get so fucked**. She saw it the second she stepped inside and she went to him, ignoring a “Hey...” from Library Boy as she passed because Marius's friends are assholes. Even Library Boy, no matter how nice he seems is an asshole, because Marius’s hands  **always**  shake like this when he’s in pain. He can tell you he's fine, and maybe he can even make you believe it sometimes, but one look at his hands..._

_His friends should have known. They should have known like she had known._

_She tosses her last tenner on the bar and leads him out of the Corinth to an utterly inebriated howl of “Get it!” from his roommate. She throws a two-fingered fuck off over her shoulder as they pass through the door and the second it closes he exhales as though he has been holding his breath the whole time he’s been in there._

_He stumbles back against the wall, chokes out, “He’s dead, ‘Ponine” into the cradle of his shaking hands and she has no experience with kindness, with gentleness, but she reaches out, she tries to comfort because it is Marius and she loves Marius even though she knows it’s a terrible idea to love anyone…_

_She carefully places her hands over his hands and it starts to rain and it’s too cold for summer, and he’s shivering, she’s shivering._

_She curls her fingers lightly over his wrists that are thin and delicate for a boy's, like hers almost, and she takes his hands away from his face. She places her palm against his cheek instead and she has never dared to touch him this way._

_He looks down at her, his eyes shining, and she gazes back up at him, her own saying, **you can tell me, you can tell me anything you want or nothing at all...**_

_And he takes a breath, a breath like a sob, half reaching out, his fingers just brushing against her skirt before falling back helplessly to his sides where they clutch the edge of his shirt instead._

_“He was all I had…” he whispers and she knows he’s talking about his grandfather, she knows how complicated this is now because she was there the day the old man disowned him on the street. She was there and he let her be there then like he’s letting her be here now and she nods, she brings him to her, she tries to enfold him, feeling too small, not enough, but he sinks into her, he holds tight, his lips pressed against the curve of her neck and she can feel his tears there, his warm breath._

_She whispers in his ear, “I’m going to take you home, ok?” and he nods once still in her embrace before breaking away with a gasp to start the long walk, still clinging to her hand._

_By the time they reach the flat he shares with Courfeyrac they are both soaked through. He nods at the door on the left and she leads him to his bedroom. She undresses him after a handful of aborted attempts on his part to undo the buttons of his shirt, peeling the fabric back from his shoulders, her fingertips just grazing the skin over his heart. His head is bowed and she can not bring herself to look up at him as her hands go to his belt buckle and undoes that as well._

_He kicks off his shoes, turns away from her as he steps out of his jeans, pressing one hand against the wall to steady himself and she knows she should go. He is home and he is safe and she should go but she stands there in the dark of his bedroom unmoving, unable to move. They have not bothered to turn on the light. His window is open and there is moonlight. His bare back is blue like something alien and smooth and she longs to cup his shoulder blades in her hands, to rest her face there between them…_

_He starts to shake again, soft bursts of air. She takes off her blouse, cold and clinging to her like second unwanted skin, and she comes to him, she wraps her arms around his middle, she does what she wants, she presses her cheek against his skin, she gives him her warmth, and he takes her hand, resting lightly against his abdomen and slides it up to his heart and holds it there._

_They stay that way for awhile until they hear Courfeyrac come home with someone. There’s a burst of laughter and then a flurry of shh’s and then a door slam, muffled giggles from the other side. She guides him away from the wall then, to the bed then, and he follows her like a trusting child._

_She eases him down and leans to kiss his forehead just once before she leaves but he lifts his face up to hers and catches her lips and she does not breathe she does not move until he draws back just the slightest bit as if waiting, as if unsure of what he has done and she does not make him wait long. She holds his face in her hands like something precious and she dips her head to kiss him back as his hands grasp her skirt, cold and wet from the rain and he does not seem to mind it at all as she sinks down beside him._

_They kiss, gentle, unhurried, and his eyes are closed tight the whole time..._


	3. Bloodflood - Alt-J

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [ _Enjolras_ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_N2eWcP4uc)   
> 

He hasn’t slept.

Which isn’t that unusual.

Sleep isn’t really something he does with anything approaching regularity anyway.

But the why is...

The why is not usual.

The why is the ember of desire that flickered to life in front of the Corinth at 2am when Grantaire stumbled against him, his breath ghosting at his throat (and just the half second of his mouth there, hot against his skin...). The why is the memory of Grantaire stretched naked beneath him, his skin glowing in the dark like a sea anemone not half an hour later.

The why is realizing how their bodies could fit and suddenly wanting it when he has never wanted anything of the sort before, let alone from _Grantaire_ who is mouthy and infuriating and messy and obnoxious...

And he doesn’t like Grantaire.

He doesn’t.

He’s been nothing but a pain in his ass since the day they met and if it weren’t for Combeferre, pointing out that an opposing voice is an excellent way for him to hone his debating skills and to learn how to handle hecklers, he would have asked him to leave ages ago. _Would have physically picked him up and tossed him out the Musain_ ages ago.

But lately he’s been trying, and Enjolras has been told by several of the Amis that the correct response to this sudden desire is to cut him some slack, or, in Courf’s word’s _“try and be a little nicer for fuckssake. I love you, Enjy, but **Jesus**...”_

So that’s why when he found him kneeling on the sidewalk in front of the Corinth staring up at the moon, his hand wrapped loosely around a bottle resting between his thighs in the most obscene way possible, he didn’t ignore him. Why he didn’t continue on his way into the bar to drop off Combeferre’s library keys, assure him that yes, as per their agreement for letting him work there after hours he will indeed get at _least_ six hours of sleep, and then head home and attempt to do just _that_.

It’s why he called out his name as he approached in a tone he hoped was friendly.

Grantaire had blinked up at him, uncomprehending for a moment, like he didn’t recognize him, before answering, softly, apologetically,

_“I’m... I’m a bit of a mess...”_

He had thought to himself, _what else is new_ , but he didn’t say it, he didn’t say it out loud but it was like Grantaire had heard it anyway.

A small sad smile had flitted across his lips, his lashes dark against his cheeks as he lowered his eyes, bowed his head, and it made something tug deep in his chest and he didn’t know why, he _doesn’t_ know why...

_“Admit it, Apollo...”_

_“Don’t call me that. Admit what?”_

_“You hate me...”_

_“I... don’t.”_

_“But you do though. You haaaaaaaate me.”_

_“Grantaire.”_

_“What?”_

_“I don’t hate you.”_

_Grantaire looks down at his hands still wrapped around the neck of the bottle resting between his legs, taps his fingernails lightly against the glass once, twice, with an unconvinced, “Hmm,” and he’s intensely uncomfortable. He’s not in the habit of dealing with Grantaire alone. He’s actively avoided it and the only reason he hasn’t said, “Ok, bye then” and continued on inside is that he can almost hear Jehan chanting in his head **don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick.**_

_So he takes a deep breath._

_“Did something happen today?”_

_“Same thing that happens every day...”_

_“And what’s that?”_

_“Nothing.”_

_He giggles, lifts the more than half empty vodka bottle to his lips, and Enjolras snatches it away before he can stop himself. He sets it on top of a garbage can, out of his reach, and Grantaire pouts up at him with a tired, “Hey...”_

_He feels his patience starting to wane, his temper starting to rise..._

_And now Courf is fucking harmonizing with Jehan: **Don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick....**_

_“That was mine...”_

_“I’m fairly certain you stole it from behind the bar when Hucheloupe wasn’t looking.”_

_“It could have been mine...” He corrects himself and gets awkwardly to his feet._

_He sways once and stumbles back with a hand rising to his head like he’s trying to keep it from falling off, and again, before Enjolras can stop himself, he reaches out, he catches him by the t-shirt to keep him upright. Grantaire falls against him, utterly boneless, and his whole body lights up at the sudden contact, very aware of the fact that they are touching because they don’t do that, they haven’t done that ever. He doesn't do that. Ever._

(And now he’s thinking about touching, he’s thinking about touching Grantaire’s bare skin, being granted free reign over it and he can’t seem to help but begin to unbutton his own shirt now, still disheveled from Grantaire’s insistent fingers...)

_He swallows, suddenly feeling too warm, and murmurs “steady, steady” somewhat distractedly as Grantaire’s forehead rests briefly in the curve where his neck meet his shoulder, his open mouth at his collarbone-_

_The feeling of it barely registers before Grantaire lurches back like he’s been burned and he catches his elbow with one hand, grips his bicep with the other all, **“I’ve got you”** and **“hold on to me”** as he tries to draw him back because **he’ll fall, he’ll hurt himself...**_

(But if he’s being honest with himself, and really, at this point where his hands are skating down the naked slope of his belly and his fingers are flicking open the button of his jeans he might as well be honest, he had liked his mouth there. He had liked him close like that and he had wanted him back. He didn’t question the why of it then like he’s been doing for the last two hours. He just followed the impulse like he thinks anyone else would have followed the impulse, like right now he’s following the impulse and )

_Grantaire’s hands find his shirt in response, fisting the material for purchase, pulling it from where it’s been tucked and once they’re both stable on their feet they look down between them at the cats cradle they’ve made of their arms, their clothing, their foreheads almost touching they’re so close and Enjolras is now very aware of his heartbeat, the pulse of his blood along with where they touch and where they don’t and it’s confusing to say the least and he’s blushing, he can feel that he’s blushing and he doesn’t even like Grantaire, he doesn’t, he’s just trying to be kind because Jehan has begged him to be kind and also Grantaire is emanating heat like a furnace and it’s too cold for summer and it feels nice, it feels good and Grantaire’s voice is quiet and low when he says,_

_“You weren’ here...”_

_“I was working...”_

_“Yeah...”_

(This is the sound of his zipper slowly being pulled down.)

_“Did I miss anything good?”_

(This is him touching himself.)

_Grantaire nods and starts to sink and Enjolras holds him up, he backs him against the wall of the Corinth to lean now because his arms are getting tired, and their stomachs, their pelvis’s press briefly together before Enjolras draws back slightly, but Grantaire follows the movement like a magnet trying to connect again._

_“Grantaire...”_

_His eyes are slits and his head is starting to loll to the side and Enjolras uses all his strength to jostle him, still half holding him upright because if he passes out here there’s no getting him home tonight..._

_He says, “C’mon, tell me what I missed...”_

_His head tilts back to look up at him, his knees bent between Enjolras’s legs now and his eyes glitter in the dark, he wets his lips with his tongue and Enjolras looks at them as he sighs, “Spin th’ bottle...”_

_“Let me guess - Courf’s idea?”_

_He nods, he murmurs, “I kissed everyone...” His eyes drift shut and he bites his lower lip that Enjolras still can’t tear his eyes from, “You gonna yell at me?”_

_“Because you kissed everyone? That’s... none of my busine-”_

_“I like it when you yell at me...” he whispers, his eyes still closed and Enjolras doesn’t know what to say to that except, “You’re drunk, Grantaire,” because nothing like stating the obvious when you’re completely at a loss and your head is spinning and you’ve got a furnace in your arms close enough to burn..._

_“So?”_

_“.... So where do you live?”_

_He gestures loosely with his whole arm down the street and then his hand returns to Enjolras’s shirt, but the collar now and he pulls it aside, accidentally unbuttoning it as he does and his eyes are fixed there for a moment looking at his exposed skin and he lets go of the fabric to trace the tattoo there with this index finger, but not touching. Almost, but no._

_The corner of his mouth shifts upwards in a half-smile and when he looks up at him his face is very close and Enjolras shifts his hold trying to get him more fully on his feet and he’s still blushing, he can still feel himself blushing as they press against each other again and he murmurs against Grantaire’s lips that are practically touching his, “I should take you-”_

_“Yes, God, **please**...”_

_“-home.”_

And he did. He took Grantaire home which turned out to be just down the block, his body leaning heavily against him the whole way.

They got to the front door of the dilapidated three flat and Grantaire had laughed and squirmed as Enjolras dug through his pockets for his keys and when he asked him what floor he was on thinking _please please please let it be the first_ , he had simply pointed “up” with his index finger.  
 _  
“How up?”_

 _“Up up.”_  
  
Once they had finally made it up the three fucking flights of rickety stairs and into the bedroom Grantaire had immediately pulled his t-shirt off over his head with a twist of his torso, a bunch and release of the muscles in his back that Enjolras could not seem to look away from. He shoved his pants off his hips, and they fell, pooling at his ankles, and Enjolras, _again_ , had reached out because the idiot was going to _trip_ and then there was the crash of the blinds, the rip of the makeshift curtain and Grantaire’s hand wrapping around Enjolras’s wrist, pulling him down onto the bed with him and  
  
 _He stays there for a moment hovering over him and panting slightly their noses almost touching until he leans back a little. Grantaire looks up at him with lips parted, eyes wide as they trace the contours of his face in the dark. He murmurs, “How are you even real...” and Enjolras is still goddamn blushing as he mumbles, “shut up...” before trying to get up but Grantaire, his body still a magnet, tries to follow._

_He gently pushes him back down onto the bed again with a firm, “No. Stay” and is thoroughly unprepared for the thrill that runs through him when Grantaire listens. For once, actually **listens.**_

And then there was the shock of Grantaire’s warm skin beneath his palms, his heart beating hard under his hand, the line of his exposed throat and the sudden want of running his tongue down the column of it as he threw his head back breathing hard like he is breathing hard now remembering how hard they both were, how he felt it against him and then _saw_ just how -

“God... god...”

_He lets his fingers trace a path down Grantaire’s chest that rises and falls quickly, a light shudder, a shift of his hips between his legs as he follows a paint streak that begins at the top of his ribcage and continues down, down, and then suddenly a roll of those hips brings him flush against him for a moment and then Grantaire’s underwear is sliding away with a clumsy push of hands and yes, confirmed, Grantaire paints in the nude. He doesn’t let his fingers follow the now uninterrupted path of paint the rest of the way down his thigh though because Grantaire’s fingers are plucking at his shirt now, his buttons, murmuring **open, please** , and his hips are still **moving** and he’s finding it hard to breathe and he catches his wrists, he presses them down on the mattress above his head to make him **stop** because he needs a **second** and Grantaire makes this sound this **sound** like **mmph** and it’s soft and a heavy exhale of breath follows it and he hovers over him, wanting to sink down, wanting to cover every inch of him.... But he doesn’t, he leans back because this is this is this is..._

He’s breathing hard now, his back arching off his own bed the way Grantaire’s had arched off the bed when he had lightly scratched his fingernails down his wrists, his forearms as he sat up and Grantaire had made that sound again when he did, that sound, and Enjolras lets himself be back there on top of him, straddling him, _feeling_ him beneath him and the paint streak, and the bare skin and the gently thrusting hips...

And Grantaire suddenly pressing a condom to his chest, murmuring _please_ murmuring _any way you want me... I want... I want..._

 _I want, I want..._  
  
And he had torn it open with his _teeth_ , his hand had gone to his jeans, his knuckles brushing Grantaire’s length on the way, the heat of him nearly searing his skin and an absolutely pornographic moan from Grantaire at even that lightest touch and he stopped then, he stopped because this was this was this was...

He comes with an explosion of breath one hand clasped over his eyes as his hips come to a shuddering stop, his shoulders falling back against the bed and he swallows, he breathes hard and he thinks...

_Fuck..._

He murmurs into the quiet darkness of 5am, “ _fuck_ ”, and the birds are starting, the sun is starting, something is _starting_...


	4. Civilian - Wye Oak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [ _Eponine_ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jViDy6UhZSw)   
> 

She thinks she could live off the memory of this. She could hold it to her when she’s cold and keep warm, could remember the taste of him and be full when she’s hungry... 

He makes a soft noise beside her, murmurs something she doesn’t catch and she smiles softly at his eyelashes, thick and flickering dark against his pale skin as he dreams.

He is close, so close, she can count each eyelash, she can number each of his freckles scattered in constellations across his cheekbones. She has never been able to gaze all she wants without a thought of being caught, of giving everything away before, and so she does it while she can, she indulges in every detail and she thinks, _Marius is beautiful in every way a person can be beautiful_... 

Her eyes drift down to the fullness of his lips and rest there, her cheeks flushing with pleasure at the memory of them against her own and other places.

The corner of his mouth shifts slightly just for a moment into a small smile and she feels this ache, this _tenderness_ suddenly wash over her stronger than anything she has ever felt and she knows how stupid she’s being letting herself get in this deep, she _knows_ but she doesn’t care.

Because, right now, encircled in his arms with the sun starting to rise and throwing warm stripes across their bodies through the blinds she feels... happy. For the first time in she doesn’t know how long if _ever_ she feels _radiant_ with happiness, and it’s not going to last because it never lasts, but his breath, warm against her bare shoulder, the whisper of his lips against her skin is making that seem utterly insignificant. She has _now_. She has _right now_ and right now is perfect. 

Right now it is easier than it's ever been to pretend that this could be true. He’s wrapped himself so fiercely around her it’s easy to pretend that he actually wants this, that he wants _her,_ and she lets herself do it. She lets herself pretend for just a little bit longer, for the length of a sigh, another brush of his lips against her shoulder...

She wants more than anything to run her fingers through the tumbled waves of his hair again, to kiss him like she kissed him last night, slow and deep and honest but she knows it’s time for her to go.

Because the thing is.

She’s not stupid.

He never would have reached for her last night were he not so upset. He was sad and she took advantage and she can’t stand the thought of him looking at her embarrassed and regretful and she knows that that is exactly what will happen because he didn't mean it. Not really.

She begins to move, she begins to carefully inch her way away from him and towards the wall praying he won’t wake up until she is gone, and suddenly he rolls away from her completely. He releases her, he leaves her free to _go_ and she doesn’t really believe in _signs_ or any of that kind of shit, but the timing hurts a little and she mentally slaps herself because that is _exactly_ what she doesn’t want this to turn into - a _hurt_.

Because Eponine Thenardier doesn’t get _hurt_.

She leaves before that happens. She gets out before it’s too late. 

She starts to climb over him, careful not to touch his skin that is everywhere and _radiating_ and she wants it back so desperately she stays there just for a moment thisclose to murmuring _fuck it_ and fitting herself against him again, this time in the light of day without the haze of Guinness and fresh sorrow between them because his lips are just a breath away from her lips, a sliver of space between their skin and...

_No._

**_Go_ ** _, you masochist._

_Jesus._

She gets herself clear, tiptoes away from the bed once she’s on her feet. She retrieves her blouse, crumpled in a heap on his floor where she had dropped it last night. It’s still damp but she pulls it on anyway, shivering all the while and already missing his arms around her.

She doesn’t look back when she leaves. She shuts the door quietly behind her and she thinks she will be fine whatever happens.

Whether he decides this happened or not.

She will smile the next time she sees him and he will believe that smile because pretending to be fine is all she ever does and she’s really fucking good at it, she’s really fucking good.

She has no tell like shaking hands to give her away.


	5. Demons - Dry The River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [ _Marius_ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMWZUxwNmSY)   
> 

_They don't speak._  

_Not a word._

_They kiss, they touch._  

_And then they gasp and moan into each other's mouths, against each other's skin cold with cold summer and dusted with rain but warming, warming to burning so quickly and he's never done this before, never knew, had no idea..._

_He shuts his eyes tight against the letter, the letter still on the floor in the corner where he dropped it, his Great Aunt's cartoonishly large handwriting taking up the entire page to just say one thing._

**_Your grandfather has passed._**

**_No need to call._**

_Well, technically,_ ** _two_ ** _things._

_And he doesn't want to think about either of them._

_So he concentrates instead on_   ** _her_** _. The sound she makes when he does_ ** _this_** _. The way her breath quickens when he does_ ** _that_** _._

_And her hands everywhere, everywhere, and his own breath stuttering, shuddering, half crying, half consumed with what she is doing what he is doing what they are doing and this is definitely a terrible mistake but she had held him outside the Corinth, she had held him like he'd never been held in his life, even when he was a kid and they told him about the accident, even then nothing like the quiet comfort of her arms around him letting him hold her back, letting him hold_ ** _on_ ** _and he didn't want it to end, he doesn't want it to end._

_He wants to stay like this until years pass and the letter crumbles to dust and he forgets all about his Grandfather who he hated anyway, who he had spent his whole life in fear of, a dark towering figure radiating disappointment and refusing to tell him anything of his parents other than they were dead so "it hardly mattered what they were like" and sending him away as soon as he could be sent away, making sure he has never felt anything but wrong and lonely and rejected until Courfeyrac took him under his wing freshman year, called him "a good egg" and then, in the same breath, "What does that even mean, Marius? Do you know? I have no idea. Who even says that? 'Good egg'. Jehan will know, you'll like Jehan, everyone likes Jehan." (And Jehan didn't know but shook his hand with a firm grip, smiled, and after a thoughtful once-over, his hand still in his, nodded in agreement and murmured to Courf, "Blue, like a robin's" and Marius didn't really understand but blushed and smiled back and then grinned at the absurdity of his actually having friends, actually being accepted and supported because he was and has been ever since.)_

_He had knocked on Courf's bedroom door tonight even though he knew he wasn't alone, and normally he would have never interrupted but he couldn't... he didn’t want to be alone and Courf had taken one look at his face, nodded, and said "Absolutely. Let us just put on some pants," when he had burst out with, "Can we go out? Please?" as soon as the door had cracked open._

_They went to the Corinth and everyone met them there because Courf knew that he desperately needed a distraction and nothing is more distracting than the Corinth packed full of Amis, especially if Grantaire and Bahorel are in, and for about an hour it had worked. He wasn't thinking about the letter, he wasn't thinking about_   ** _anything_** _, and then after his second pint he had retreated to the bar for another and something about the polish of the wood reminded him of his Grandfather's desk - the one in the study that would gleam in the sunlight, caramel coloured and warm... He had smoothed his hand reflexively over the bar, wiped away a splash of beer with his sleeve, and it hit him then, what it actually meant that his Grandfather was dead._

_It meant he had lost his absolute last chance of knowing anything about his parents ever because his Great Aunt had only been let back into the fold after they had died, having being shunned for the past 40 odd years. His Grandfather had decided having someone deal with "the child" was more important than some past transgression she may or may not have been guilty of and he had had to set his glass down because he had been squeezing it hard enough to shatter, angry all over again at being denied something that was his. His parents were_ ** _his_** _. And now they really were gone, gone forever because his Grandfather had taken them with him and it was almost like they were dying all over again, everyone dying all over again because his Grandfather was all that had been left of them and now..._

_He had started to shake. His hands started to shake and he had clutched the bar and Courf had noticed because Courf notices everything and had immediately gone to him, immediately offered to walk him home, to stay with him and he had said "No, it’s alright", he had said "No, I’m ok. I think... I think I just need to be alone for a minute..."_

_Courf had placed his hand on the back of his neck and squeezed gently, pressed his forehead lightly against his and said, “You let me know when you need me and I’ll come running.”_  

_His throat had closed up at that and all he could do was nod and gently shove him towards the table where the rest of them had gathered, and he had gone, albeit reluctantly, because Courf knew him well enough by now to know he meant it. And he had meant it. He had needed to get himself back under control, didn't want to unravel in front of everyone and someone being nice to him was going to do it..._ ** _had_** _done it..._

_He had thought,_ ** _goddammit_** _, as his eyes began to sting and he held his breath like he used to do when he was a child and didn’t want to cry..._

_And then suddenly a hand was in his._

_Eponine's hand in his._

_Eponine leading him outside like she knew he was about to break and the second the air hit him he did, he lost it and she held him, she was there, Eponine always there when he needed her..._

_She was there that day, the day of The Incident when his Grandfather had learned from his Great Aunt that he was taking up environmental law and actually came to the University to tell him_ ** _in person_** _what a waste it was, what a waste_ ** _he_ ** _was and found him at the Pride Parade covered in body paint, one of the flower crowns Jehan had made for everyone in his hands. He had just placed it on ‘Ponine’s head, had just tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and he remembers he was thinking how beautiful she looked when he had heard a voice coldly saying his name._

_The others had discreetly backed away during the tirade (and he remembers thinking during the worst of it,_ ** _Thank God Enjolras won't be here for another hour_ ** _because he was certain he’d have made a lunge for him even if he_ ** _was_** _close to 80 years old) but Courf and ‘Ponine had stayed. Courf on one side of him with “FREE NAKED HUGS” scrawled on his bare chest and ‘Ponine on the other, her hand tightly wrapped around his and wearing a crown of fresh flowers, a bra for a top and a pair of spangly hot pants that matched Grantaire’s._

_He doesn't know what he would have done without them, doesn't know what he would **do** without them..._

_He loves them._

_He loves her._

_He runs his fingers through her hair as they lie together in his bed, having calmed from that initial slow build that had exploded into a frenzy of grasping and kissing and..._

_He blushes in the dark his hand coming to a rest low at the small of her back, her bare skin warm beneath his fingers and she_ _fits against him like she's never not been there..._

_He can't bear the thought of her not being there..._

_And that's when he begins to panic._

_He knew even as he kissed her that he shouldn't. Even as she kissed him back he knew she was just being kind. He knew as he pulled her down on top of him, as he held her to him, as her legs tangled with his and his hands slid up her thighs, rucking her skirt to her waist and his mouth found and kissed every inch of bare skin (and there was a lot, there is a lot) that he was being selfish, so _unbelievably_  selfish and that this would only complicate things that were already complicated because sometimes when he looked at 'Ponine he wondered what it would be like, and that was wrong because she was like a sister and she's never given any indication that she might... that they might... so he never let himself dwell on those thoughts when they occurred because they were just friends but_ _n_ _ow he knows what she looks like with her top off and he knows that she likes especially to be kissed behind her ear and that she's very good with her tongue and he's sure he’s embarrassed himself several times over tonight, but she hadn't seemed to mind, because Eponine never seems to mind when he’s an idiot..._

_And he is an idiot he is an idiot he is an idiot..._

_She sleepily slides her hand over his chest, coming to rest over his heart that is racing at the realization of how badly he has screwed everything up_ _and she lifts her head from the crook of his shoulder to look at him._

_She matches her breath to his, guides him this way into slowing, into calming._

_She kisses his eyes closed, her hand still on his heart, making sure it is steady now, steady and he wraps his arms around her even tighter knowing he should let go but it's already too late, too late, and they fall asleep this way, wrapped around each other, and his last thought before he finally gives in to his exhaustion is that it doesn't really feel strange at all being like this with her... it doesn't feel strange at all... and he hopes she won't think it's strange, he hopes she'll wonder like he's wondering... he's hoping she's wondering **what if**  too..._


	6. This Heart's On Fire - Wolf Parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [ _Combeferre_ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Xq4o-kE-j8)   
> 

_He happens to be sitting facing the door so he sees her when she comes in and it's a whole **Margot-Tanenbaum-stepping-off-the-Green-Line-bus** thing where there's music and slow motion and he starts to stand, starts to say "Hey", and then everything suddenly speeds up and she's walking right past him and he's crouching awkwardly and Bahoral smacks him on the bottom, because, hey, why not.  _

_ His cheeks flush and he sits and he doesn't really know Eponine and she certainly doesn't know him, so there was really no reason for him to address her at all except he sees her sometimes at the library running her fingers over the spines of the books, tapping at the titles like piano keys as she searches. (She likes the classics. She likes Dickens and Flaubert and Hardy and he probably looks a little longer than he should, his arms stacked with returns that he's supposed to re-shelve as she wanders the aisles with her arms outstretched, hands like fans, and he doesn't mean to stare, he really doesn't, she's just so... lovely. He likes the way she takes up space, the way she swoops like a slow-motion bird until she finds what she wants and then snatches it off the shelf like it might escape.)_

_ The first time he saw her she was sitting in the fountain outside of the library. It had been drained for the winter and no one had said a word about her being on it because she has a way of being invisible when she wants to be, but he saw her. She drew his eye precisely because she didn't give a shit if anyone did. She had been wearing a long wool coat, something kind of pumpkin coloured and vintage-looking tied at the waist with what looked like a man’s belt and one long slender leg had been draped over the side of the sculpture and swinging in a boot nearly to the knee but untied, the laces swaying, the tongue lolling. The exposed skin of her shin was almost blinding white against the black leather and it may have made him pause, may have made him swallow hard and blush into his scarf which made him feel completely ridiculous like some Victorian-era tosser getting turned on by a flash of ankle or something and **this is why you’re single, Combeferre...** _

_ Marius had introduced her to everyone at last year’s Pride (which they don't talk about because Marius tends to visibly shrink whenever it comes up) but he'd seen her with him a few times before then sharing lunch at that same fountain, talking, laughing quietly, walking together (sometimes with her hands in his pocket if it was cold out, awkwardly bumping against him until  he'd throw an arm around her shoulder), but it wasn't until Pride that he learned her name. _

_ She doesn't come to meetings, doesn't hang out with them at all even when it's a more social environment, so he has no idea if they’re romantically involved or what but h_ _e’s thought about approaching her at the library countless times, said in his head as she scratched lightly at the bindings,_ **_Eponine, right? We’ve actually met once before. Are you enjoying Heart of Darkness? Did you know Apocalypse Now is an adaptation? Do you like films? Would you like to see one? With me? Sometime? AreyoudatingPontmercy? ShouldIjustfuckoff?_**

_ She has Marius’s hand in hers now as she leads him past their table, her dark eyes troubled and, as she glances over at them, vaguely murderous. Marius still looks about two seconds away from shattering into a million pieces as he trails behind her and Combeferre wishes, not for the first time, that he knew him better or at the very least knew how to talk to him. He had thought about approaching him several times tonight to offer an ear, a beer, anything that might ease his discomfort, but could never seem to catch his eye without Marius startling and looking quickly away and he'd be offended if Marius wasn't like that around all of them with the exception of Courf -_

_ "Get it!" _

_ \- who is howling like a banshee as Jehan’s palm suddenly cups his cheek and turns his face gently away from their retreating backs and towards his as he climbs into his lap to claim his kiss.  _

_ Combeferre accepts it all with a goodnatured laugh grateful for the interruption because, really, none of what is going on is **any** of his business and he should really stop **looking** anyway, and Jehan pecks him sweetly on the lips in a delicate, kittenish sort of way that is very unlike him. He raises his eyebrows in question when he draws back because Jehan is not usually so reserved with his kisses, but immediately gets it when his gaze slides over to Courfeyrac who is distractedly playing with his straw and looking a little abashed. Jehan outright **blushes**  when he sees that Combeferre has **seen**  and he smiles softly at him because he gets it, he really really does and his own eyes flicker over to the door Eponine has just exited after flipping them all off, Marius following after in a daze, and he should probably just accept that he's pining outright now without knowing a thing about her other than her literary preferences and penchant for tall leather boots no matter the weather which seems a little ridiculous on his part, but there it is._

_ "She hates me so much, you guys..." Courf moans watching them leave as well still bending and unbending his straw and flicking alcohol everywhere as Combeferre tries not to be too obvious about trying to see if he can still see them through the pebbled glass windows. Jehan settles comfortably into his lap and hands him his whiskey and he immediately takes a sip because pining is new, pining is maybe something he does not know how to deal with... Which is a first._

_ "'Ponine doesn't hate you," Grantaire assures him as he takes the straw away and flings it over his shoulder before patting his knee clumsily. "She's just angry. Like, all the time. All the time angry. At everything." _

_ Courf still looks like he's not sure if he should follow them or not and it appears Grantaire is not nearly as trashed as he seems because he moves his hand from Courf's knee to slap it heavily onto his shoulder instead when he starts to rise and says, "I can tell you unequiv-quivically that she **will** murder you dead if you go out there right now." _

_ Combeferre wants to ask why she's angry all the time and is about to do it when Feuilly asks instead as he expertly rolls a cigarette and licks the paper, sealing it shut, "Is Marius alright?"  _

_ Huchelope sweeps by with a glare and Feuilly quickly tucks it behind his ear for later holding up his hands apologetically ("I know, I know, No smoking...") as Courf says seriously, quietly, "I really don't know..."  _

_ "'Ponine will make sure he's ok," Grantaire murmurs reaching for the empty bottle again and giving it a good spin. "'Ferre, _ _ I'm taking your turn. Feuilly, I will love you forever if you roll me one..." _

_ Combeferre turns back to the game just in time to see the open mouth of the bottle pointing straight at him once more and Jehan scampers away to make room as Grantaire launches himself at him. He gives him a big smacking kiss that tastes like six different kinds of alcohol and is better than it should be considering and he thinks R might be the person to ask about what’s going on between Eponine and Pontmercy because they’re obviously friends and he has been spending way too much time **wondering**_ _... H e looks back at the window again and it's dotted with rain now, the outside obscured entirely, and he tells himself he will ask. He will ask Grantaire about her and then he will stop wondering. And maybe he will stop looking. Which will hopefully lead to full stop pining because he doesn't think he likes it, he's starting to get eye strain and a crick in his neck and really **what is the point** of pebbled windows when you can't **see** **through** **them**..._   


_ Grantaire falls back into his chair, arms raised in victory and crows, "I did everyone!" as Bousset kicks out a foot to keep it from tilting over completely and managing to end up with beer down the front of his shirt in the process. _

_ "Are we done?" he asks taking Joly's proffered napkin and patting at his chest. "Since you won?" _

_" **Everyone** wins with Spin th' Bottle, Boussy," Grantaire admonishes and Courf shakes his head,  "No, no, I haven't gotten to kiss Prouvaire yet," and he leans over, turns the bottle with his hand to point directly at Jehan who is beet red at this point and Courf pulls him into his lap as Bahorel whoops and flings himself towards the bar for another pitcher._

_ "It's really coming down," Feuilly observes no doubt thinking of his unlit cigarette still lying in wait behind his ear and Joly mutters,  "Shit. Did anyone bring an umbrella?" _

_ A chorus of **no** 's and **one more round then** 's follow and Combeferre sips his whiskey as he looks at Jehan and Courf not looking at each other but holding hands kind of intensely, at Joly pinching Bousset's elbow affectionately as he goes to get him another drink to make up for his spilt one, and at Grantaire who is suddenly silent and staring fixedly at the empty chair beside him that Enjolras would be sitting in if he were here and everyone knows, he thinks, but Enjolras himself that Grantaire is kind of desperately in **something** with him and Combeferre is starting to wonder if there's something in the water..._

 ::::

_ An hour and a half later R gets to his feet and stumbles outside after nicking Feuilly’s cigarette from where he sleeps with his head on the table surrounded by an array of empty glasses and bottles, and Combeferre follows him under the guise of smoking one of his own._

_ Grantaire smiles at him as he joins him out front, the damp pavement glistening prettily under their feet, the stars out and shining white in the suddenly cloudless night. He gives him an exaggerated wink as he shows him the bottle of vodka he’d managed to liberate while Huchelope was in the back, and Combeferre would have something to say about that except he saw Grantaire slip some money into the till when he was back there.  As much as Grantaire wants everyone to believe he doesn’t give a shit, he really really does and it’s why Combeferre likes him so much, why he convinced Enjolras to let him stay in the first place after that first explosive dust up over a year ago and he's had just enough whiskey to be thinking very warmly of him and wanting to tell him so..._

_ “Where’s fearless leader?” He tries to sound nonchalant but it doesn’t work because it never works when he tries to inquire after Enjolras, and Combeferre lights both of their cigarettes for them as he answers, _ _“Library” and  _ _Grantaire nods loosely, cigarette hanging off his lip, bottle dangling from his fingers. _

**_ Just ask just ask just as- _ **

_ “Grantaire?” _

_ “Yes, Combeferre?” _

_ “You’re friends with Eponine, right? _

_ “Oh, yeah. Yeah, she lives in my building. I’m teaching her how to play the guitar. It’s my guitar but she named her and plays her more than I do so I guess it’s kind of her guitar now.” He sways on his feet, takes a drag, takes a swig, and Combeferre wants to ask what she named the guitar, but thinks to himself, **focus, focus** , and asks instead the question he has been wanting to ask ever since he saw the two of them sitting at the base of the fountain, their knees touching and smiling softly at each other nearly a year ago and exactly three days after the first time he saw her and was struck by the dark tangle of her hair, the curve of her red mouth leaving a ring on her cigarette and her swaying boot..._

_ “Is she seeing Marius?” _

_ “Oh, yeah. All the time...” _

_ “But... um... Romantically? Are they romantic?”  _

_ Grantaire swings around to face him, his eyes a little hard as he points at his chest with his cigarette, a streamer of smoke curling between them and he reaches out to trace it before he can stop himself and he really never drinks this much, he really doesn't, but Bahorel can be so **persuasive** sometimes and **pining**...  
_

_ “You like ‘Ponine?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “Really?” _

_ “Really yes.” _

_ "And what are your intentions?" _

_ “To take her out. To dinner. Or coffee. Or a film. Anything she wants, really, anything...” He takes a drag of his own cigarette suddenly remembering he has one too and breathes out the smoke trying hard not to blush like Jehan had blushed tonight under Grantaire’s gaze that has suddenly become too focused, too intense. _

_ “You think she an’ Pontmercy are dating?” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “They’re not dating.” _

_ “Oh, ok.” _

_ “She’s in love with him though.” _

_ Oh. _

_ “Ok.” _

_ “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’ ask her out though.” _

_ “...Ok.” _

_ "Combeferre?" _

_ "Yeah." _

_ "Does Enjolras fuck?" _

_ And stinging, **burning** in his nose and down his throat as he coughs and coughs over a tumble of smoke gone down the wrong way and he gasps, "What?" _

_ "You know. Have sex. Mess around. Screw. Bone."_

_ “I... honestly don’t know how to... answer that...” _

_ “He doesn’t talk to you about that stuff?” _

_ “Not really, no...” _

_ "So he doesn't, like, date people. Any people." _

_ "Not since I've known him, no." _

_ "He doesn't wanna to do that stuff at all...?" _

_ Combeferre takes the offered vodka bottle and drinks deep remembering a Christmas party six years ago when he gently rejected Enjolras's advances and he doesn't answer. _

_ “Crushes suck,” Grantaire sighs as he brings his cigarette back to his lips and all Combeferre can do is nod and murmur, “Yeah...” as he hands the bottle back. _

**Author's Note:**

> (I had been posting this as parts in a series but decided to make it a chapter fic instead - ao3 doesn't give you the option of changing it so, apologies for the repost! Will be deleting the old posts in a bit!)
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://thestarsjustblinkforus.tumblr.com/)!


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